Ser eyes met his, hers naked with pleading, his remote as mountain lakes under gray skies. She saw in them defeat of her wild dream, her mad desires.

Say you’ll marry me when I come back or, before God, I won’t go. I’ll stay around here and play a guitar under your window every night and sing at the top of my voice and compromise you, so you’ll have to marry me to save your reputation.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

She hasn't your strength. She's never had any strength. She's never had anything but heart.

I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken - and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.

I wonder if anyone but me realizes what goes on in that head back of your deceptively sweet face.

She couldn't survey the wreck of the world with an air of casual unconcern.